


Prison Wife

by TahlLlama



Category: Dead by Daylight (Video Game)
Genre: Anal Sex, Blood and Gore, M/M, Non-Consensual Kissing, Rape/Non-con Elements, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-19
Updated: 2020-02-19
Packaged: 2021-02-27 20:40:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,196
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22801912
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TahlLlama/pseuds/TahlLlama
Summary: There's only room for one outlaw in this town, and it's probably the one with a gun. Ace Visconti meets the Deathslinger, I think they're gonna be good friends. What's not to love about Ace?
Relationships: Ace Visconti/Caleb Quinn|The Deathslinger
Comments: 7
Kudos: 79





	Prison Wife

Ace had just settled down away from the fire for a nap, the idle chatter amongst the others were out of ear shot. He pulled his suit jacket tight around him and rolled over to drift in and out of the cusp of sleep. The startling sensation of falling overwhelmed his senses and his limbs shot out looking for something to grab on to, adrenaline from the startling sensation yanking him from his sleepy state.

The soft grass beneath him became a chalky dust, the wind whipped and kicked the sand into his face. He was nowhere like anything he’d ever seen before in the time that he had been here, this was new. There were no endless stretches of trees or swampy reeds. This reminded him more of the deserts that surrounded Vegas for miles; The Mojave, or the Great Basin that ran far to the north end of Nevada before coming to a halt at the Sierra Nevadas. It was hauntingly more like what he would have called home. He stood and dusted himself, anxious about being alone with a new danger lurking in the shadows.

He skirted into the first and largest in a string of many buildings. The place reeked of death, bloodied corpses were strewn in chairs throughout the bar in attire that looked like it belonged in a Western. In fact, the whole place looked like it belonged in a Western. The piano against the wall eerily played itself in rigid plonking noises that produced more noise than any sort of jaunty tune. He moved through the blood bath as quickly as he could to the other end of the building.

Earthly vices tugged him away from the door, the scent of liquor permeated the wood-top bar. A strong nose for only the richest of whiskeys led him to one of the bottom shelves behind the counter. Gold Creek whiskey, the label was dusty but the fluids inside were safe and untainted. He tucked it in his inner pocket for safe keeping.

The scrape of boots on the floorboards brought his attention to the doorway on the other side of the bar. A figure as tall as the door frame itself stood with his head tilted to the side. A long rusted rifle rested across his shoulders, his jacket flared out from his bony frame dramatically, and his hat sat perfectly straight on his thin stringy hair.

“Now I reckon,” He leaned over to spit out a dark brown liquid, “A man like yerself wouldn’t need to be stealin’.”

Ace blinked in surprise, unsure of how to respond, this killer had just accused him of… Stealing? He felt the bottle in his inner breast pocket, he didn’t think it had belonged to anybody, not that he’d ever had an issue stealing top shelf liquor from suckers before.

“But y’see,” He took a step forward, the tight metal brace on his leg that looked ancient squeaked and clanked from the effort, “I’ve seen yer type in here before.”

Ace stepped back in response to the sudden approach and looked around for his exit options. If he was quick he could make it through a nearby door, but this place was completely new to him, he didn’t know where to go.

“The suit is a dead giveaway, son.”

“What?” Ace felt offended, there was nothing wrong with his suit which had remained almost impeccably clean since he’d arrived here.

“Yer a gambler, a good one if I had to guess, seein’ as yer still alive,” He pulled a canister from his pocket and tucked away a fingerful of tobacco into his bottom lip, “Now I’m willin’ t’bet that yer also a cheat.”

“You call it cheating,” Ace squared his shoulders, refusing to take any more blows to his character from this man, “I call it luck.”

The killer laughed, it was gravelly and low, threatening. He sounded genuinely amused by the statement, his smile raised his gaunt cheeks to hide his glowing eyes as he carried on laughing.

“Alright, ‘luck’ then, if that’s what you’d like to call it.” He rubbed his fingers through the stubble on his chin, “Either way, luck ain’t got a damn thing to do with you walkin’ out of here alive, I suggest puttin’ my whiskey down.”

“ _ Yours? _ ”

The amused expression fell from the killer’s face, he looked more grim, more imposing.

“ _ Mine.”  _ He reiterated.

Ace smirked, he was willing to bet he could outrun the bastard and his creaky leg brace. He was also willing to bet he could take the ugly old bastard for a ride through the dusty streets while the others got generators done, even in unfamiliar territory.

He bolted from behind the bar and through a door immediately on his right. The room was smokey, dimly lit, and held a sight for sore eyes. The green felt that made up the top of the poker table brought a wave of nostalgia through Ace, but he would have to find the time to appreciate it later. The backdoor, the exit from the saloon, was standing wide open, and the creaking gait of his pursuer was coming through the doorway behind him.

He ran for it, the orange and brown landscape was just within reach, and then he could find somewhere, anywhere else to go. The bang in the tiny back room was nearly deafening and the pain was excruciating. His hands slowly reached up to his chest, the metal spike was slick with his own blood and gore, and the spikes lodged deep into his flesh. The tugging came next, the sound of laboured breathing and a heavy handle cranking, he was being pulled backwards. He held onto the door frame for dear life until the pressure in his chest became too much. His grip weakened, slipping one finger at time from the wall before he was finally yanked to the floor.

Slowly, agonizingly, he skidded along the rough floorboards, leaving a crimson trail in his wake. He screamed as the sharp barbs tore into his muscles and organs, grasping at it to find some sort of relief. The horrible cranking came to a stop and he opened his eyes, he was at the feet of the killer. His piercing blue eyes stared down at the pathetic mess that composed Ace; bloody, mutilated chest, face completely drained of its natural blush.

The killer reached down with a bony hand and grabbed Ace by the scruff, lifting him from the floor. Ace’s hands held on to the killer’s wrist with the last of his strength, desperate to not collapse and drive the harpoon any deeper into his chest cavity. His assailant let out a thoughtful hum as he observed the damage.

“Maybe you are lucky, huh?” His face returned to a sadistic smirk, “Think we can get it out without killin’ you?”

Ace groaned, it hurt plenty going in, he didn’t want to think about it coming back out. The killer tossed him effortlessly onto the card table, and Ace felt him plant a firm boot on his shoulder. He couldn’t have braced for what came next, the sound of steel scraping along and snapping ribs on its way out, blood flowed from the gaping wound. With a final sickening squish sound, the spear popped free from his body, taking mangled and shredded flesh with it.

“Whoops.” The man behind him chuckled.

Ace weakly rolled onto his back and tried to prop himself up but a firm hand forced him back down and reached inside of his tattered jacket. The bottle of whiskey slid from his pocket, slick with blood but still good to drink. The killer popped open the bottle and sprinkled it over Ace’s chest wound. Ace tried to bite his tongue, the stinging sensation from the strong alcohol brought another wave of pathetic groans from his lips that he could barely hide. The killer tipped the bottle back and the rest drained down his throat in a near instant.

“Let me ask you somethin’,” He said , ignoring Ace’s pathetic whimpers, “Do you know what a cell warrior is?”

Ace didn’t have the strength to respond, but his confused expression was enough of an answer. The killer snorted and then spit on the floor off to the side.

“Ever been to the Big House?”

Prison. Ace shook his head, there were plenty of close calls, but he’d always managed to weasel his way out of it.

“A cell warrior,” He planted his hands firmly on either side of Ace and leaned over him, “Is a man who talks big when there’s something safely between himself and someone like me.”

He ran a cold, clammy hand down Ace’s cheek.

“But the second that barrier is gone, he’s as sweet and submissive as can be.”

Ace’s breath quivered, this scene had played out before for him; mortally wounded, on his back, poker table beneath him, somebody looming threateningly over him. It wasn’t the first time, and he sensed it certainly wouldn’t be the last. The killer dug his long fingers into Ace’s hips, leaving a trail of bruises, and forced him closer to the edge of the table. Poker chips, coins, and cards all scattered to the floor. Ace’s palms digging against the table top weren’t enough to stop the raw strength of the gaunt man before him, he slid helplessly towards him.

“Now I can’t help but notice that you talk a big game,” He commented as he unbuckled Ace’s monogrammed belt, “But when it comes time to atone for yer actions, you run.”

He yanked Ace’s pants down to his knees, exposing the soft clean flesh that the killer hadn’t mutilated yet. He ran his calloused hands along Ace’s skin, leaving goosebumps in their wake, slowly working from thighs to his ass.

“So not only didja steal from me,” He gently caressed his thumb along Ace’s ass, “You weren’t even enough of a man to face me after.”

Ace’s nails dug into the edge of the table, splintering part of the lacquered wood into his fingertips. He already knew what came next, it was just a matter of preparing for it.

“And it’s my job to punish those sorts of people; liars, cheats, gamblers, thieves.”

Ace swallowed hard, opting to keep to himself that he was all of those things.

“Well,” He snorted hard in disgust, “I think Caleb Quinn has been fucked over by people like you for the last time.”

He pursed his lips and let a long string of brown spit, complete with granules of tobacco drip down. Those closest thing Ace understood he’d be getting to lubricant. With a quick shuffle and the jingling of his own belt, the killer pulled out his slender, pale cock. Wrought with wrinkles and spots from age, yet still sizable. It pressed into Ace and he whined, physically unprepared for what was coming. The killer’s dick stabbed into him and he let out a harsh, wheezy breath, his nails ground tighter into the table. Suddenly, dying to the still bleeding chest wound didn’t seem so bad.

The man above him, the one who called himself Caleb, had a sick and sadistic grin plastered on his face. The smile exposed his blackened, rotting teeth and Ace could smell the reek of tobacco and pus that made up his mouth. He retched and turned his face away, but the hand that wasn’t holding his leg up grabbed his chin and forced him to look back. Cold, cracked lips met his warm and soft ones. A tongue that he could only describe as a cold wet slug forced its way into his mouth, running along his gums and exploring every crevice. The taste was as bad as the smell, rotten teeth clicked against his perfect ones and it took everything in him to not puke right then.

Caleb’s hips jutted into him hard, stabbing into a particularly sensitive bundle of flesh and nerves. He slipped a surprised but pleased moan into the killer’s mouth, and then the killer did it again. And again, and then again. Pleasure began to mix with pain until Ace couldn’t tell them apart anymore, his hands let go of the table and dug into the rich leather coat the man wore. It was the only pleasant smell about him and Ace held onto that scent desperately as the killer slowly backed out and quickly rammed himself back in.

The orgasm was both overwhelming and exhausting, the last of Ace’s strength went to bucking his hips and grinding himself along Caleb’s rough shirt. The warm splatters of cum were a stark contrast to Ace’s cold body, his head swam with nausea and his vision tunneled. The blood pool beneath them had grown impossibly large, his heart stilled to a stop and the light faded from his eyes, but the man above him kept going.

His pulse picked up again and he sat up with a gasp. The forest floor was back beneath him, not a single granule of sand in sight. Gone was the sucking chest wound and the tattered clothing, but the taste of Caleb Quinn in his mouth remained.


End file.
